Saturday, June 29, 2013

The Storm

by G. Jack Urso

 

the silent do not cry

when they curl up to die

or sigh somber whispers

with weary-worn eyes

 

when we take our last breath

where our souls sank and slept

what hours will appear

when our lives come to rest

 

i cry with the sky

when thunder breaks high

lightening traces passages

where souls are sure to fly

 
 

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